


shake it out

by howellesterfics



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: AU, M/M, alcohol tw, dan is kinda uhh goth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 08:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17097272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howellesterfics/pseuds/howellesterfics
Summary: phil has been pining after dan (despite his affinity towards edgy fashion), but sometimes it feels like he doesn’t really know him at all. maybe all they need is a little liquid courage





	shake it out

**Author's Note:**

> hello peeps i finally wrote something after my Death (finals)   
> happy holidays!!! <33

“We should go outside and find some leaves to stomp on,” Phil says. 

He nudges Dan’s shin with his foot, covered by a sock adorned with pumpkins. His other sock has bats. It’s possible that the spirit of the season was creeping up on him. He pulls himself up into a sitting position, only to glance out the window that looks out to Dan’s backyard. There’s not a ton of yard to speak of, but the border of trees behind the house have dropped enough brown, dry leaves to tempt him into the chilled weather. It’s evening already, the sun low in the sky and casting an orange hue over everything it touches. There’s only a short number of days until Halloween and he wants to do something fun. 

Dan doesn’t seem too enthused, though he rarely does. When Phil looks at him he shifts his weight, sensing the feeling of the stare. He doesn’t look back though, keeping his head down as he picks at his nail polish. It’s black, obviously, and horribly chipped. When Phil sees them, he always has the urge to grab the polish and fix them himself. Maybe Dan likes the way they look, all distressed and imperfect. It wouldn’t be surprising if that’s what he preferred. It also goes with the rest of his look; today he’s in an old loose tee and some sweatpants, but usually there’s a lot more thought in his outfits. 

When Phil first met him, he was wearing a black denim jacket with way too many patches, a black mesh t-shirt underneath, and some ripped up jeans that were messily cuffed at the ankles. Phil’s first impression was that he looked like he needed to spend less time on tumblr (even though he has secretly wished every day since then that Dan would wear the mesh shirt again). He’s almost grown used to the feigned edginess now. 

“What do you think?” 

“Think of what?” Dan looks up, his eyes widened. 

Phil snorts at the confusion painted so clearly on his face. Dan is often in a whole other world. 

“Stomping on some leaves.” 

“It’s too cold out. Your immune system is shit.” 

“Can we do something, though? You look bored.” 

Phil leaves his foot on top of Dan’s leg, not minding the slight contact. He doesn’t stop staring at his friend, though, wishing he could wipe the look of discontentment off his face. They’ve been sitting in this bed doing absolutely nothing for ages. There was a record spinning on the other side of the room, but it came to a scratchy end around ten minutes ago. Phil is itching to get up and move. 

“I am bored. Let’s drink.” 

“Your parents are gonna come home soon,” Phil says. 

He cracks his fingers and then crosses his arms over his torso, not knowing what to do with them. He wants to put a hand on Dan’s shoulder, ask him if he’s okay. That’s not the level of friendship they’re at, though. He isn’t sure if they’ll ever get there. There’s this frailty between them, something that feels constricting and unsure. Phil’s never felt that with any of his other friends before. 

Dan’s a bit weird in that respect. Sometimes Phil will look him in the eyes and not see anything there; like an animal, conscious but empty. He can’t ever tell what he’s thinking. It’s not necessarily bad, though. When Dan is having a good day, they laugh until they’re sputtering and gasping with it. They’ll play video games and go out for cheap gas station coffee and there’s life behind his eyes, shimmering golden in the daylight and taking the air out of Phil’s lungs. Today isn’t a good day. 

“They won’t check up on us. We can get drunk and play Guitar Hero.” 

“Are you up for Guitar Hero?” 

“No, but I’m being a shit host. I’m getting drinks.” 

Before Phil can say anything else Dan is gently shoving his foot away so he can stand up, then he’s walking out of the room. The back of his hair is sticking up at odd angles from laying down for so long. Once he’s out of sight, Phil lets his head fall back to his pillow and he sighs. The sun has set far too rapidly, the orange shifted to dark blue. The lamp on Dan’s desk is the only light in the room, fluorescent and harsh. Phil closes his eyes and stretches his legs out. 

Getting drunk with Dan is something he’s only done once. It was with a few of their other friends at a house Phil was unfamiliar with. He felt awkward and out of place the whole time but sitting next to Dan helped to calm his nerves. They both became touchier when intoxicated, hands brushing against arms and heads resting on shoulders. Phil has fond memories of that night, but he isn’t sure if Dan even remembers it. He was even more out of it, and when they went to bed on the spare air mattress that night, in the middle of some friend’s living room, Dan had mascara smeared down his cheek and a dopey smile on his lips. He had pulled a tattered quilt over them both and slung an arm over Phil’s chest, pulling him in close. Phil had been afraid to breathe after that, not wanting Dan to ever move away. He lay unmoving, shoulders stiff with nerves, and tried not to get to attached to the feeling. His heart was squeezed tight in his chest. The next morning Dan was on the other side of the mattress, hanging halfway off the edge. Phil still had evidence of the night before, though, as he woke with a drool stain on his shoulder. 

He’s still thinking about that night when Dan returns. He opens his eyes and sees him holding a bottle of vodka and two stolen shot glasses. He hands Phil one and unscrews the bottle’s lid without saying anything. He pours them both shots, fuller than Phil would have preferred, and clinks their glasses together. 

A tiny splash of it spills onto Phil’s jeans. 

“Nothing to chase it with?” 

“Hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Dan says, and then immediately downs his shot. 

Phil observes the visible shiver that goes through his body when the taste hits his tongue, watches the scrunching of his face unravel after the initial upset. He smacks his lips together and swallows another couple times, probably trying to rid his throat of the burning. Phil feels his own chills traveling down his spine, but for a different reason. He shouldn’t be thinking such things when his friend is being dumb and self-sabotaging. 

“I’m not doing that. I’ll get us both something,” he says in exasperation. 

He leaves the shot glass on Dan’s desk as he heads to the kitchen and grabs them both a soda from the refrigerator. It’s not the best chaser, but it’ll be better than nothing. When he returns, Dan is sitting in the floor on his plush rug, legs crossed. He’s moved the bottle and glasses there as well. Phil sits down in front of him and passes over a can of coke. His fingers brush against Dan’s and his attention is directed to his fingernails once again. He quickly downs his shot and a gulp of soda to catch up. 

“You need to fix your nails.” 

“I just pick at them again anyways. Doesn’t help to try to make them look nice.”

Some amount of time passes. Phil doesn’t know how much time. The sky’s dark blue has gone entirely black and the sound of footsteps down the hall shows that Dan’s parents are back from their movie date. They aren’t suspicious of their son and his weird friend, so they’re free to continue throwing back shots in the darkness of the bedroom, lit only by the lamp still. Dan’s shoulders progressively get looser and more rounded, his upper half swaying left to right subconsciously. He’s had five or six shots, while Phil stopped at four and intends to keep it at that. Dan has gone quiet and moody again but after some slow blinking to gather his thoughts he speaks. 

“I don’t know why you hang out with me. You’re so fun and happy and I make you sad.” 

“You don’t. What are you talking about?” 

“You look at me sometimes and you’re sad.” 

Dumbstruck, Phil just stares at him with an open mouth. He can’t tell Dan why he’s sad sometimes, if you can even call it that. Mostly, he just feels helpless. 

“I don’t really know anything about you,” is what his mouth chooses to say. 

It’s not wrong. 

“Oh.” 

Maybe it is wrong. Saying that now feels so, so utterly wrong, because Dan’s jaw is clenched, and his Phil thinks that his lip might have quivered only it could have been a trick of the shadows fallen over the room. 

“It’s okay, tell me something.” 

“I’m afraid of the dark.” 

The confession makes Phil smile. He takes note of how the yellow light from the lamp shines off Dan’s hair and cheek, giving one of his eyes a reflective lightness while the other appears almost black in comparison. 

“It’s dark right now.” 

“I’m also drunk. And if something tried to get me, it would have to go through you first. And I’d make my escape.” 

“How noble of you,” Phil laughs. He sees the corner of Dan’s mouth tug up into a grin. 

“I’ll tell you something about me now. I hate vodka.” 

“No one likes it, dummy. It’s a means to an end.” 

“Your mum is a means to an end.” 

“And to think I was going to tell you my secrets!” Dan laughs, tilting his head back. 

A part of his jaw is flushed red, and his cheeks and neck are at least slightly tinged pink. It’s unfair how sweet it looks. Phil scratches his nails against the fur of the rug beneath him, gripping onto it lightly. He wants with everything in him to bridge the gap and explore the heat of Dan’s skin with his mouth. 

“You better, because I know you won’t do it sober.” 

“What if I have a big one, though?” 

“How big?” 

Phil ignores the innuendo of his words; he might not get to hear of this ever again. Dan catches it of course but doesn’t react except with a suggestive raise of his eyebrows. 

“Fairly large. And largely unfair.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“Nothing. Did you want another?” Dan asks, holding up the bottle. 

The amount gone from it is unsalvageable. His parents would have to be ignorant not to notice, but there’s a good chance they wouldn’t mention it. Dan seems to be mostly left alone by them, unless he’s done something far out of line. 

“No. Don’t wanna feel like ass in the morning.” 

“Fair,” Dan agrees, but still pours himself a final drink.

It goes down much easier than the first, almost as if it were water. His face shows that he immediately regrets doing so, but neither of them comment on it. 

“I think we should sleep,” Phil suggests wearily. It hasn’t escaped him that they’re going to share a bed tonight. 

“Yeah. Prob’ly.” Dan uncrosses his legs and starts to stand, only he looks like a newborn deer with limbs made of jelly. He tips over but catches himself with a hand steadied on the desk. 

“Careful,” Phil says. 

He gets up much more slowly and grabs Dan’s arm, leading him to the bed. He sinks down onto the mattress gratefully and burrows beneath the blankets. His eyes are closed before his head even hits the pillow. 

“Scoot.” 

“Ugh.” 

Phil climbs in next to him, making a point of keeping all arms and legs laying straight so there’s no room for his lack of inhibition to take over. It doesn’t last long. Dan turns over to face him and pokes his cheek, staring him down with only one eye halfway open. 

“I’m going to start doing better,” he says. 

“At what?” 

“Talking about things. Not being an angsty asshole.” 

“Are you going to tell me the big secret?” 

Dan hesitates in responding, his forehead wrinkling up with disdain. But then his features clear up and Phil startles, feeling something touching his knuckles. It turns out to be another hand, the deft fingers gliding clumsily between his own and then a cold palm pressed against his with intent. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Holding your hand. It’s sweaty.” 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s okay. Go to sleep.”

-

Phil’s hand is still sweaty when he wakes up. His whole body feels hot and damp and his fringe is sticking to his forehead and god, why did he let them drink last night? Dan isn’t touching him except for a sneaky foot tucked between Phil’s ankles and a knee rested on the back of his thigh. The only sound in the room is gentle snores and a couple of birds twittering about outside. Phil doesn’t think he has a hangover, but his mouth feels full of cotton and tastes like something crawled in there and died at some point in the night. 

He throws his legs off the bed and stumbles off to brush his teeth. He uses some random tube of toothpaste and his finger, and then swishes around a bit of mouthwash for good measure. The mirror shows that he should really do something with his bird’s nest of a hairdo but going back to bed sounds better. 

When he returns, Dan is still asleep and he’s taking up the whole bed. So much for that, then. He reaches down and grabs Dan’s big toe, squeezing it. 

“Wake up, sleeping beauty. It’s a brand-new day.” 

Dan frowns in some half-awake state and tries to pull his foot away, but Phil keeps a firm hold on it. 

“Come on, it’s after ten.” 

“How hard would I have to kick you right now for you to stop?” 

Phil laughs and goes over to the bed, perching on the very edge of it. He looks at Dan’s eyelashes and wishes he was good with words so that he could poetically fit them into some overdone metaphor. But he’s not good with words and those eyelashes are twitching to open, and then Dan looks at him accusingly. 

“I hate you. Everything hurts.” 

“I’ll take care of you, duh. Just get up. We’ll go get coffee.”

After coffee they decide to walk around for a while outside. The air is just crisp enough to make them feel less sluggish from the day before. Dan had to go out into the real world today so of course he took nearly an hour to get ready. Phil doesn’t normally have such a rough time with not staring, but it’s particularly difficult today. Dan’s got eyeshadow on, and Phil got to watch as he brushed it onto his lids, dark purple and blended out nicely. His waterline is tar black and he has his black studs in his ears. 

He told Phil to grab him an outfit from his closet and it felt like so much power. He picked the black mesh shirt and held it up, and Dan snorted at him, laughing as he tried to finish fixing his hair. 

“It’s cold outside, my nipples would suffer,” he had said. 

Phil dug around some more and found a plain black camisole. It felt like a genius move, layering it underneath the mesh top so that no more nipple complaints could be had. So, Dan ended up wearing that ensemble with his denim jacket and standard black jeans, and he looks unreasonably good. 

Phil directs them over to a set of steps in front of a building, an old courthouse that’s been repurposed just for boring adult stuff and is vacant enough for them to take up most of the space on the stairs. They drink their coffee and Dan scrolls through his phone with a bored expression. Phil can’t tell if he’s having one of his good or bad days. He’s joked around today but there’s some nervous energy in every move he makes. Right now, even as they’re mostly alone and there’s a warm drink in his hand, Dan can’t seem to stop scratching at his own thumb, a nervous trait that Phil’s picked up on dozens of times before. 

“Are you feeling alright?” He asks, trying to seem a little disinterested. It must work. 

“Not really.” 

Phil waits for him to elaborate, but it never comes. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Do you remember a lot of last night?” 

Dan doesn’t look up from his phone, trying to seem nonchalant as he continues to scroll, but it’s obvious that he’s not really seeing anything that flashes by on his screen. It’s just a blur of colors and words from where Phil is sitting. He isn’t sure why Dan is all jittery about last night, nothing really happened. And if he remembers anything about the talk of secrets, that would be impressive. He had downed a lot of shots by then. Phil decides to play dumb, afraid that if he pushes it’ll scare Dan away. 

“Kinda? I just remember you drinking too much and being scared that you’d puke on me or something.” 

Dan does look up to listen to him, and Phil feels his face flush as those eyes dart across it, and he knows he’s such a shit liar. He doesn’t fold, though. 

“I can hold my drinks, thank you. But okay.” 

“Do you remember everything?” 

“You said that you don’t really know me.” 

Oh. Phil had forgotten about that. 

“I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re not the most open person, I just- I want to know everything about you.” 

Dan’s thumb nail has somehow found its way into his mouth, and Phil understands why his black polish is always chipped. 

“Why?” 

“Because the parts I do know are really nice parts.” 

It feels like too much to say. They’re never very vulnerable with each other. It’s something that Phil would have said without a second thought to any of his other friends, but Dan is different. Maybe he isn’t ready for honesty like that. Maybe it only feels this intense because of how much Phil means it. There isn’t a part of Dan he’d change. Dan clears his throat and looks down at the steps below him. He’s got on chunky, shiny black boots. They’re in immaculate shape compared to a lot of his wardrobe. They even still squeak when he walks. 

“I like your parts too.”

-

When it gets too cold out, they decide to go back to Phil’s house. It’s mostly because they left a mostly empty vodka bottle in Dan’s bedroom and Phil’s afraid it’s been found out by now. So, they spend almost twenty minutes in the lounge with Kath as she rattles on about her day and asks them about what they’ve been up to. Phil mutters something about being starving and pulls Dan to the kitchen for food, ignoring the way his mum tuts at him for being so eager to get away from her. 

While he’s rummaging through the refrigerator, Dan hoists himself up on the counter space and sits with his legs crossed. 

“You didn’t have to do that. She gives a shit about you,” he says. 

The words have a bit of sting behind them, and Phil feels his own shoulders hunch in preparation for what seems like an attack. He pulls out some leftovers from dinner a couple nights ago and looks at Dan in trepidation.

“I know. She’s alright, she knows I’ll catch up with her later.” 

Dan doesn’t respond, but Phil can tell that he’s just in a mood right now. He takes a calming breath and fetches some plates from the cupboards above his head. 

“Your mum gives a shit about you, too, Dan.” 

He fills both of their plates and shoves one in the microwave, hitting a random number of minutes. 

“I’m sorry. I’m being a dick. I know she does.” 

It’s not very convincing. They stand around in silence until the microwave dings and Phil switches the plates out. He puts the hot one next to Dan on the counter and hands him a fork. He takes it with a small smile. 

“Phil?” 

“Mm?” 

“I know it was nothing, but I keep thinking about last night. I want you to know things about me and I wanna know things about you. You’re just the first best friend I’ve had. I’m rubbish at it.” 

Phil takes a minute to revel in those words. He isn’t sure what to say or do, because every possibility feels like it’s going to ruin the moment. His heartbeat is palpable throughout his whole body. He’s Dan’s best friend. It’s not all he wants, but for right now it could be. He wants to pull Dan into a hug and squeeze the life out of him, but he’s just sat on the edge of the counter looking so timid and small, and Phil doesn’t want to overwhelm him by being a big lumbering emotional idiot. So, he just smiles wide and shakes his head, barely noticing the obnoxious beeps of the microwave behind him. 

“You’re a good best friend, Dan.”

Later that night they’ve got full stomachs as they lie in bed, less space in between them than usual. Kath had brought them hot chocolate upstairs earlier, and now Dan has a bit of it dried on the corner of his mouth. Phil’s got his laptop on his legs and they’re on top of his duvet instead of under, watching Age of Ultron. It was obviously Phil’s choice tonight; Dan would have chosen something he considers more sophisticated, like Donnie Darko or Inception or something. 

Phil doesn’t want to think, he only wants to look at Thor and sometimes over at Dan to see his reactions to the movie. He doesn’t look like he hates it, but he’s not entirely present either. His eyes are starting to go all glazed like they do on bad days. It doesn’t make sense to Phil, who is still riding on the high of the earlier ‘best friend confession.’ He tries to watch him subtly, frowning when that empty stare doesn’t even flinch at one of the coolest fight scenes in the movie. 

“Are you sleepy? We can shut this off.” 

“I want to tell you something.” 

“Yeah?” 

“About me. Like, about last night. Pretty sure I said I had a big secret or something. And it’s not big.” 

Phil shuts his laptop and sits it on the floor, eyes wide. 

“It’s not?” 

Dan looks mildly terrified, but he shakes his head no. 

“I don’t want it to be… a thing. It’s nothing. Okay?” 

“Sure.” 

“It’s just that - okay, fuck. So, like…sexuality, gender, all of that shit. I’m not like, straight. And sometimes I’m not sure if I’m, you know, one hundred percent…a guy. And sometimes I am sure. Do I sound crazy?”

Phil isn’t sure what he’s meant to say, or the rules he’s meant to follow during a conversation like this. But he knows that if he were Dan, he wouldn’t want it to be brushed off or made into something. He doesn’t care that none of those sentences were very straightforward or even coherent, because he’s too busy being overcome with happiness and pride that Dan would even fathom telling him something like that. He feels his cheeks go wide with the dopey grin he has. 

“You’re not crazy for not fitting into boxes, dummy.” 

Dan snorts, hiding half of his face in Phil’s checkered pillow. 

“Fuck boxes.” 

“I could never fit into them either, if that makes you feel better,” Phil says. 

There’s a sureness about saying so that he’s never had before, fueled by the fact that he knows he’d be head over heels for Dan no matter how he presented himself. It’s scary, but it’s true. 

“Did you ever figure it out?” 

“I figured out the important bits,” Phil whispers.

It feels like he’s turned inside out, like Dan can see every thought racing through his head, see every time his heartbeat goes erratic. Maybe he can even see the blood tunneling through its vessels, rushing like an untamed river to his warmed cheeks. There’s really not a ton of space between them, and Dan’s staring at him like he’s seeing him for the first time ever. 

“Good,” is all he says. 

His shoulders look nice under the transparency of the black mesh covering them. There’s a sweet little stick and poke tattoo near his wrist that he says a friend gave him when he was fourteen. It’s a smiley face, slightly misshapen and sloppy, but it looks nice. It looks like it belongs there. 

“You don’t have to be afraid to tell me things like that.” 

Dan smiles up at him, all sleepy and soft. 

“I know.”

-

Waking up the next morning is better than the morning before. It’s nine and it smells like breakfast is being made downstairs, and Dan’s got a whole leg slung over Phil’s body. The weight of it is grounding. Phil is content just laying there running his fingers over the sparse amount of leg hair Dan has through the rather large holes in his jeans. He didn’t mean to let him sleep in jeans, but it’s too late to fix that now. He hopes it wasn’t too uncomfortable. Dan isn’t snoring now, but his mouth is wide open and his breaths sound particularly loud. It’s endearing in the dumbest way.

After their talk last night, Phil is surer than ever about what he wants, and he thinks that he could have it. That maybe they’re on the same page. There’s nothing wrong with trying. 

He grabs his phone and glasses from the nightstand and tells himself to let Dan have his rest; there’s no rush. He doesn’t have to wait long, though. Twitter entertains him for a while, dog videos and petty drama, but then Dan is stirring awake and instead of moving his leg away, he hooks it around Phil’s body even tighter. 

Phil stares at him and watches his face come to life, the way he rolls his neck to make it less stiff and the way he scrunches up his nose like some kind of humanoid rabbit. 

“Morning, you,” Phil mumbles. 

Dan opens his eyes and they’re the honey sweet kind today, being hit by the soft light falling into the bedroom. 

“Mornin’,” he croaks. 

“You’re pretty.” 

Phil knows it to be true, despite the messy day-after-makeup and the morning breath and the wild hair. He doesn’t regret for a second that he’s said it either, because it makes Dan blink up at him in confusion. Finally, something must click, though, and he lets out a breathy laugh. 

“God, Phil, at least buy me dinner first,” he jokes. He doesn’t look away. 

“I bought you a coffee yesterday! Venti and everything!” Phil says, mouth open in faux indignation. 

His hands are itching to reach out, to do something, anything besides being tucked into his own body. He keeps them there, though, waiting for something to make them move. Dan rubs his eyes as he becomes more aware, blinking against smeared eyeliner. It clings to his skin like it belongs there. 

“That’s true. And you snuck me leftovers last night.” 

“I did.” 

“Well what are you waiting for?” 

Phil laughs and covers his mouth with his hand. 

“Waiting for you to brush your teeth.” 

Dan looks offended for all of three seconds before he’s giggling too, pushing Phil’s chest lightly. 

“Fuck that,” he says. 

Even with his brave words, though, he stays rooted in place – almost like a deer in headlights. Phil falters; is Dan hesitating because he wasn’t being serious? Had he taken it too far? He rests his palm on Dan’s calf. 

“You sure?” 

“Are…you?” Dan shoots back. 

Leave it to them to dance around the subject, playing it safe. Phil snorts at the absurdity of it. 

“Fuck’s sake,” he says, before finally leaning down to connect their mouths. 

Once it’s been set into motion neither of them looks back, meeting each other again and again. And maybe Phil was right about the vitality of brushing their teeth, but it gets to a point where the morning breath can’t be distinguished from one person to another. He just gets to feel chapped lips and hands on his shoulders and a swell of emotion telling him that he was meant to do this.

They kiss until Phil’s lips feel numbed and he has to pry himself away, not wanting to get completely worked up. It’s hard not to, though, when Dan looks up at him with red cheeks and unblinking eyes. 

“We need to do that again,” is what Dan says. 

His mouth is trying not to twitch up into a cheeky grin. Phil laughs and rolls away from him until he can swing his legs over the bed and stand up. His legs are unmistakably wobbly. 

“Last person to brush their teeth is a nerd!” He claims before he sprints out of the room. 

He hears an indignant squawk of protest behind him and then a body squeezes past him in the narrow hallway. He trips over his feet a bit, but Dan beats him to the bathroom and picks up a toothbrush as Phil follows in after. 

“Hey, that’s mine! You don’t even live here, rat.”

Dan is already squeezing toothpaste out of the tube, though. 

“If you let me share this toothbrush, I’ll let you share spit with me.” 

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said.” 

“But you will?” 

Phil hesitates, huffing out a sigh. 

“Fine.”


End file.
